The Pioneers
by Folay
Summary: The next chapter in the Friday Night Lights saga follows Eric Taylor's new team and the players in it, as they try to prove that they have what it takes. Rated M for language
1. Chapter 1

Late in the summer of 2012, the Philadelphia Pioneers had their open tryouts, mainly looking for a new quarterback. The starter of last year had graduated, and the backup's family had moved away during the summer vacation. That meant that Eric Taylor no longer had a quarterback that could accurately throw a ball more than 20 yards at the most. That particular realization caused Eric to let out a huge sigh, scratch his head and look at Harold Peters, his offensive coordinator.

"We could always rink-and-dink.", Peters said with a shrug.

"I'd prefer not to.", Eric said while repositioning his cap and looking at the next name on his clipboard. "Price!" The young men looked up, but no one stepped forward.

"Price!", he repeated. "Franklin Price!" A young kid who stood at least six feet tall seemed to suddenly realize where he was looked up from the ground.

"Yes sir?", the kid said, with a voice that had turned hoarse from not being used.

"Step up." Eric motioned toward the offensive line, that stood waiting. As the kid started moving Eric rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. The kid didn't look to athletic, but at least he was taller than the rest. Price put on his helmet and took position under center, but didn't manage to yell loud enough, even for the quite stadium, when preparing the play.

"Louder, Price!", Peters yelled. The young man obeyed and yelled his orders louder, this time managing to communicate them to his offense, which set in motion. The play was a simple slants play with a blocking tailback and a tight end going out into the flats. As Price dropped back, everything went in motion. Eric waited patiently for something to happen, but didn't need to wait for long. Within a millisecond of a receiver getting open, the ball was out of Price's hand and hit the target 6 yards away with pinpoint accuracy. The play ended, and Peters made the call for a new play. Price once again received the ball from under center, quickly dropped back and looked, executing a near-perfect throwing motion as soon as the hook-route to his right became open. Once again, right on target. Eric caught himself smiling a little, but stopped as soon as he realized. The still didn't know if the kid could throw deep.

7 perfect short- and mid-range throws later, however, it was time for the test. Three wideouts running streaks and a tight end running a post route. The long snap from the center was somewhat high, but the young man recovered well and dropped back two steps, waiting patiently for someone to get open. Suddenly, a defender broke through from Price's blindside, causing a rollout to the left. Being chased, Franklin suddenly saw what he was looking for, set his feet, and threw the ball. Everything but the recievers and defensive backs seemed to stop as the ball traveled in a rainbow arch toward an open receiver down field. As Collins, #88, looked up and behind him, he could see the balls path was perfectly calculated to his own speed, and caught it in stride 40 yards from the line of scrimmage, speeding up and breaking in to the end zone a few second later. Applause could be heard from a few of the coaches and players, as Taylor and Peters looked at each other. They had a quarterback.

"So, you wanna play football?", Eric said from behind his desk. Franklin Price stood on the other side, looking extremely nervous.

"Yes sir.", he said. "Very much so." Eric smiled.

"You ready to work hard, get up at miserable hours, take hard hits and deal with peoples' disappointment?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Eric stood up and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. "Then all I need is one of your parents signing this permission slip, and we're good to go." He held it up to Franklin, who suddenly went pale, but took the paper anyway.

"Okay sir.", he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"Is there a problem?" Taylor raised an eyebrow at the young man.

"Uh, no. I mean, I don't think so. Thanks coach." Franklin nodded at the coach in a way that almost looked like a bow, and then disappeared out through the door. Eric shook his head; he would never understand kids.

He'd made it. For the first time in his life, Jason Brooks was part of a football team. As a second string safety on a high school team, sure, but it was still something. There was a certain skip to his step as he left practice, even though the rest of the team seemed somewhat worried that the quarterback hadn't shown up.

Jason wasn't worried though. He was raised with the mentality that no one should rely on just one thing for success, but rather aim toward excellence in everything. The same thing applied to a football team; just because it lacked a great QB, it didn't mean all hope was lost. All the linebackers were great, and the running back, Steve Martinez, was a bright spot on offense who also happened to be one of Jason's childhood friends. That very same guy was standing in wait for Jason as he exited the locker room, talking to William Collins about something that had them both grinning ear to ear.

"Hey guys.", he said as he stopped in front of the two, who immediately turned their attention to him.

"Hey man.", Collins said, still with a huge grin on his face. "Doin anything Friday?"

"Nah, not really." Jason shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about it, but was incredibly excited that Collins even talked to him. "Why?"

"Tracy is throwing a party.", Steve said. "Gonna be a lot of ladies there." Jason just barely managed to keep himself from gasping. Tracy was the head cheerleader, known for having a lot of crazy parties.

"And since you're actually on the squad this year, there's a good chance for you to get some company." Collins gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "So how 'bout it Brooks?" The two looked down on him, as they both were a few inches taller, with eyes that were almost glittering with expectation.

"Sure, I guess." He shrugged again.

"Oh, that's great, chicks love that 'I-don't-give-a-crap' attitude.", Steve said with a laugh.

"True that. But I need to get going, catch you later.", Collins said, bumping fists with the both of them before he got in a crappy sedan and drove of.

"So, there gonna be a lot of people?" Jason was legitimately wondering, as he'd never been to a cheerleader-organized party before, and had no idea how many people generally showed up.

"Yeah man, probably like half the school." Steve looked at his watch. "Hey, wanna go to my place and play some Madden? Dad probably won't be home for like another two hours, so it should be cool."

"Yeah, sure." For the first time during the whole conversation, Jason cracked a smile.

"Awesome. Race you to the road?" Steve pointed to the road ahead of them, and Jason nodded. As they took of, it only took him half a second to fall behind. He'd never catch up.

After the tryouts, two days passed without Price showing up for practice. None of the other kids on the team knew him, and the practices fell a bit flat without a quarterback that couldn't go long. Therefore, after the morning practice, Eric decided to look up the kid's address and pay a visit, see what was going on.

The drive from the field to Price's house took almost 30 minutes, and led Eric into a lower middle-class suburb, with rows of one or two story houses, all in the same style of white wood with black roofs. As he saw the number 271, the same he had written down on a piece of paper, he stepped out and looked around.

What was apparently the home of Franklin Price was a medium-sized bungalow style house, complete with front porch and a small garage. He stepped up toward the house with the usual quick and determined steps, knocking on the door as soon as he reached it. He stood with his hands on his hips as he waited for someone to open, which took quite a while. He knocked again, this time getting a response.

"Calm the fuck down, I'm on my way.", said a woman's voice. He looked at the paper again. Franklin's guardian was named Oscar Price, a name he recognized, but couldn't place. The door swung open, and a young, fairly attractive woman looked out at him as she tried to light a cigarette.

"Who are ya?", she said as the cigarette finally took flame, and she could inhale the smoke.

"I'm coach Taylor from Franklin's school, I'm looking for Oscar?", Eric said.

"Oh,well come in then." The woman turned around and walked into the house, motioning to Eric to close the door behind him. "It's for you babe!"

The inside of the house wasn't quite the mess Eric had expected it to be when the woman had opened the door. In fact, aside from a few pizza boxes, empty beer cans and and almost full ashtray, the place was very clean, with decent furniture and a big TV in the living room. At the back of the room, a man sat behind a desk, filled with different screens that his eyes shot back and forth between, as he furiously typed away at a keyboard. Just as the woman, the man was a smoker, but still had the good manners to blow the smoke out through an open window next to him.

"It's some coach.", the woman said as she left the living room for the kitchen. The man stopped typing and looked up, scratching his beard as he inspected coach Taylor.

"Oscar Price?", Eric said.

"Yup.", the man replied before putting out his cigarette in an ashtray and getting up from his chair. "What do you want?" The way he said it, coupled with the fact that he stood at a good 6'5 and looked to weigh way north of 200 pounds, made coach Taylor take an internal gulp of fear.

"Did Franklin talk to you about football at all?" Eric inspected the huge man, trying to remember where he had seen him before.

"All the time when he was little, why?"

"He was at the tryouts two days ago, best quarterback there.", Eric said, Oscar nodded. "And afterward, I gave him a permission slip for you or his mother to fill out, and I haven't seen him since."

"We had a brief conversation about that." Oscar shrugged, then lit up a cigarette and let the smoke roll out through his nose.

"And?", Taylor asked.

"To be honest, I've kind of been down on football for a long time." The giant man picked up the note that Eric had given to Franklin two days earlier.

"How so?" Eric somewhat nervously scratched his neck, afraid that it could be a touchy subject.

"Got hurt." Price pointed to his left knee. "Missed the draft. Had to get a real job."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Oscar raised his eyebrows as more smoke puffed out from his nose. "How can I be sure that nothing will happen to Frankie?"

"If he does get hurt, then you can hold me personally accountable.", Eric said, still nervous. "But he is probably the greatest quarterback I've seen at that age, and the team really needs him."

"Uh-huh.", was Oscars reply as he read the permission slip. Finally he shrugged. "Aight, fine. I'll talk to him when he gets home. If he still wants it, when is training tomorrow?"

"6 pm sharp, that means no later...", Eric was interrupted by a smiling Oscar.

"No later than 5.45, I remember coach.", he said as he knocked some ashes of the cigarette into the ashtray behind him. And suddenly, Eric knew who the man in front of him was. He'd gotten a bit taller and way heavier since he last saw him, but it was still the same Oscar Price that had been a redshirted freshman tight end when he'd briefly worked at TMU all those years ago. He'd heard rumors of the young man being a potential draft pick the previous year, but nothing more than that.

"You got taller.", Eric said. The smile on Oscar's face got bigger.

"Coulda sworn it was you who got shorter.", the tight end said. They both laughed, Eric not as loudly as Oscar, but still all the way from the heart.

The story of what had happened to Oscar Price after coach Taylor had left TMU was a sad one. Oscar had played for three seasons after his redshirt year, gaining popularity as one of the greatest tight ends in college football. Compiling a career total of 177 catches for 2,303 yards and 16 touchdowns, he was touted as the no 1 tight end in the 2011 draft. However, as TMU appeared in the Rose Bowl, his career ended. On the very first play of the game, he made a reception on a crossing route, and took a low hit from a linebacker. The hit shattered his kneecap and tore several muscles and ligaments in the knee, as the joint bent backwards. It had been one of the worst leg injuries anyone of the coaching staff had ever seen, and one that despite multiple surgeries and months of physical therapy would never let him play again. Just like that, his career was over.

Eric listened carefully to every word of Oscar's story as they sat on the porch, waiting for Frank to get home. When the story ended, coach Taylor was at a rare loss for words. But he collected himself, and spoke.

"So, how did you end up in Philadelphia?", he asked.

"Got a job offer here after I'd finisher my degree.", Oscar said with a shrug. Eric nodded, remembering that Price had studied software engineering along with playing ball. "Doesn't pay great, but it meant I could move Frank out here as well."

"Yeah, about that, where are your parents?" Taylor knew it was a risky question to ask, but he had to know, needed to be aware of his future player's background.

"They're..." Oscar took a pause to find the right words. "They weren't really around. I'd prefer not to talk about it, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it." Eric looked at his watch, as it was getting dark. "You know, I should probably head home before it gets to late." Just as he stood up, a six feet tall youngster entered the property, but froze as he saw the two men on the porch.

"Hey Frankie.", Oscar said, holding a hand up. Eric simply smiled, and started to walk. As he got up to Franklin, he stopped, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow kid.", was all he said, before getting in his car and driving home.


	2. Chapter 2

The Price brothers had always been humble people. They never bragged about their achievements, never tried to upstage anyone, and never showboated on the football field.

Therefore, it was an unusual experience for Franklin to have a room of alcohol fueled people his own age get hyped over his abilities, lifting him up in the air and screaming "state" over and over. Not that he'd complain, he didn't mind the attention, but he himself would never try to get people so hyped up over something that was still a very distant possibility, especially when he hadn't even played his first game yet.

The constant getting tossed up and down stopped when someone pointed out that the so called 'drunken idiots' that were celebrating him could drop him at any moment, and suddenly be left without a quarterback. This was pointed out to them by a small, slender girl with auburn hair and a voice so strong she could be heard over all the screaming and loud music.

Nodding understandingly at what she said, the players put Franklin down and took turns patting him on the back before turning back to their conversations and alcohol. Frank was ever so thankful, as he took the moment of no attention to escape away from the crowd. After looking for a quiet place, he found the door to the house's glass patio, where no one yet had found their way.

The patio was slightly colder than the rest of the house, as one of the sliding doors was cracked open, but it didn't bother him. Sinking down in an obnoxiously large couch, he finally found some peace. The walls of the house did a decent job of containing the music, but he could still feel the base shaking the ground as he took a sip from his beer.

"So you're the quarterback.", a voice said from behind him, making him jump up like a scared animal. Looking at the person who had spoken, he realized that it was the girl who had previously saved him from motion sickness whilst being thrown in the air.

"Yeah.", he said, and sunk back down in the couch. The girl positioned herself in the equally large couch opposite him, and began looking around for something.

"You don't look like a quarterback.", she said, finally finding the ashtray she had apparently been looking for. "Too skinny."

"You don't look like a cheerleader.", he said, but failed to follow it up with anything clever.

"I'm not a cheerleader.", she growled, lighting up a menthol cigarette. "Cheerleaders can't smoke, which is a retarded fucking rule."

"Pretty sure they can't fucking curse either.", he said, barely realizing that he was smiling.

"Whatever.", she said, blowing smoke toward him. It reminded him of his brothers behavior, at least when he was pissed. "Can I have some beer?" She stretched out her hand.

"You came out for a smoke and didn't bring anything to drink?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah.", she said, taking another drag. "Now, beer?"

"Rookie mistake." He took a sip. "And no, this is mine."

"Oh, well fuck you then." She angrily leaned back in her couch. He chuckled at her, and put the beer down on the glass table between them.

"What's your name?" He scratched his cheek, where patchy stubble had started to sprout.

"Nicole.", she said, frowning. They sat in quiet for a good thirty seconds before the buzzing of Franklin's phone broke the silence. He picked it up out of his pocket, and read the text message. It was from Brooks, one of the few players on the team that didn't seem like a complete meathead.

'Where r u?', it said. Frank shook his head and typed back. 'Spell like a human being. Patio, bring beer.'

"Beer's on the way.", he said, picking his bottle back up. "I'm Frank, by the way." Nicole looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm aware of that." Her tone was very dry, as if she thought he was stupid for saying it.

"Just being polite." The girl wasn't easily charmed, even though that wasn't really what he tried to do. Just as he was trying to figure out something else to say, Brooks tumbled in through the open door, carrying a twelve-pack of beer cans and laughing hysterically at something.

"Hey Frank.", he said between outbursts of laughter, before sitting down on the floor at the edge of the glass table, putting the beer down beside him. "A beer for our dear commander, and one for our resident loudspeaker." He picked up beers and gave them to Frank and Nicole before opening one for himself and leaning backwards on his left elbow.

"If you didn't bring beer, I might've punched you.", Nicole said as she opened the metal can with her teeth, holding it up toward Franklin for a toast.

"Cheers.", he said, touching his can against hers, and then drinking with big gulps.

It was way past nine when Eric and the other coaches finally called an end to their final meeting that week. So many routes, formations, plays and gameplans had been discussed that Eric's brain was two steps from turning into liquid. So when he finally got to leave and get in his car to drive home, there was an immediate sense of relief.

It wasn't a far drive between the football field and the Taylor residence, but he still took the car every day in case he needed to be somewhere else. The drive also helped calm him down in case he was stressed about something, which he seemed to be more and more the closer they got to the start of the season.

In the five minutes it took for him to drive home to the two-story house with a big garden he'd managed to collect himself, and could calmly walk in through the front door.

"Hello family!", he shouted as he hanged up his jacket.

"Hey hun.", Tami replied, sounding a bit distant. "Your dinner is in the microwave if you're hungry." He rolled his eyes and walked in to the living room, where his wife sat on her knees by the coffee table, with papers spread out everywhere around her notepad and a glass of wine.

"Lot of work?", he asked.

"You could say that." She picked up a paper and read a few lines, before crumbling it up and throwing it into the fireplace, which was an ever discussed subject in the family, as it lead to having no TV in the living room. "How was work?" She wrote something in the notepad, picked up her glass and turned toward him.

"Good, I guess. Just wish we wouldn't have to hold the meetings so late." He sat down in the couch and rubbed his forehead. "Where's Gracie?"

"She's in her room, watching TV." Tami took a sip of her wine and held up a post-it note to him. "Julie called, she said she had tried calling you but your phone was off." Eric nodded and picked up his phone at the same time. It was very much dead, which was his exact problem with smartphones.

"Every damn day.", he muttered. "What did Julie say?"

"Matt's firm is holding an exhibition at an artist's studio in two weeks. She wanted us to go." More wine passed from the glass and into Tami's mouth.

"Why here, in Philadelphia I mean?", Eric wondered, with a somewhat confused look on his face; Matt's company was an art dealership based out of Chicago, buying almost all of their art from local talent.

"I think it was because all the art was already here. Besides, it means we can have them over for dinner., she said, shooting him her most charming smile.

"I guess you're right about that." He grabbed her head and gave her a soft kiss, before standing up and walking toward the kitchen. "Can I get you anything, my queen?"

"Bottle!" Tami held up her glass, which was nearing empty. He smiled, and disappeared around the corner.

Before Frank had even had time to take his second beer out on the patio, the rest of the party discovered the little hideaway, and invaded it in full force, leading to Nicole disappearing in the masses. Within minutes the couches and floor were filled with football players, cheerleaders and other random high schoolers, all of them too busy being drunk to pay any real attention to him. That was, until Martinez, the running back, was in the middle of a speech that hyped up his own abilities and chose to make Frank part of it.

"And Frank here!", he said, reaching upward to grab Frank's shoulder, at the same time as he spilled some of his beer on the floor. "He's gonna light shit up through the air. Whatcha say man, like 2000 yards?" It quieted down, and everybody looked at Frank.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "I can't see the future." His words seemed to cause Martinez to struggle with keeping his smile, but he pushed through and spoke again.

"He's just kidding." He laughed, people laughed with him. "Course he's gonna put up big numbers!"

"Sure man." Frank realized that it wouldn't serve any good purpose to argue with the drunk-of-his-ass, currently very full of himself running back, so he just went with it. Then he faked a yawn. "I really ought to get back home."

"Oh yeah, getting a little sleepy are we?" Steve laughed again, but by that point people had turned back to their own discussions.

"Yeah." Frank untangled himself from Steve's grip. "Gotta keep a good rhythm on my sleep, or I'll get lazy." He shot a big smile at Martinez, who seemed to soften up and held out his fist for a bump.

"Aight man, be cool.", Steve said as they bumped fists, letting Frank exit the house and property in a peaceful manner. The walk home would however be a whole other ordeal, as Collins had given him a ride there, but then promptly passed out two hours into the party. Therefore, Frank would have to walk two miles, in a less than sober state and in weather that was getting colder by the minute, as the evening was drawing close to midnight. He began contemplating calling his brother, with whom he calculated having about a 50/50 chance of getting picked up. This was since Oscar and Joanna, the girl he'd been dating for a week, had broken up that morning, putting him in a somewhat grumpy mood. Somewhere in the middle of his thoughts, a car stopped next to him, and honked once. He turned to see Nicole sit on the passenger's side of the front seat, looking at him with a blank face. A blonde woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, sat beside her, looking straight ahead.

"Want a ride?", she asked, hanging halfway out the window.

"Uh, yeah, sure." He opened the door to the back seat and climbed in, buckling his seat belt and keeping quiet. It took him a good ten seconds to realize that both of the women in the front seat were looking at him, causing him to let out a half-drunken "What?"

"Your address, numbnuts.", said the older woman, whilst Nicole rolled her eyes.

"Oh.", he said. "Bredhurst Boulevard 271. Sorry." The car started rolling, and they were silent. Not in the awkward way, but silent because they were all tired for different reasons. The first words in a few minutes were spoken when they turned left onto Bredhurst, three blocks up from Frank's house.

"I'm Kara, by the way.", the blonde said.

"Frank.", he responded. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem.", Kara said, shrugging behind the wheel. About a minute and a half later they stopped in front of the Price's bungalow, where on the front porch Oscar was sat, in the middle of a smoke cloud. A Pink Floyd song that Frank identified as Eclipse was playing from inside the house, and Oscar was drinking an Estrella Damm, one of those imported beers that was really too expensive, but still extremely good. These factors led Frank to believe that his brother was in a happy or at the very least neutral post-break up mood, rather than an angry or sad one. This was confirmed as the bottle was raised toward him as a greeting when he stepped onto the path toward the house.

"See you in school.", Nicole said quietly, to which Frank responded by nodding and smiling before resuming his walk.

"Welcome home brother.", Oscar said with a smile before standing up and giving a thanking wave to Kara, who drove of a second later. "So, who was that?"

"Nicole." Frank spoke in a quiet voice, almost as if he was embarrassed.

"That's nice.", Oscar said. Realizing that his brother wasn't quite ready for the subject, he tossed his cigarette onto the stone path and put it out with his foot before going up to and opening the door. "Wanna order some pizza?"

"Sure." Frank smiled at his brother as they entered the house, confident that everything was going to work out just fine.


	3. Chapter 3

"He's not my dad.", Franklin said in between bites of his burger. "We're brothers."

"Well excuse me then, I thought he was.", Nicole responded, with a tone that made her sound offended. They were seated with Jason at a picnic table in a local park, eating burgers and fries whilst holding their conversation. The trio had started hanging out more and more as the school year had started, and were celebrating the fact that Coach Taylor had officially named Frank the starter for tomorrow night's game.

"Don't let him hear you say that." Frank gave a light smile, as if he was internally laughing at his own joke.

"Why? He's old enough to be.", Jason said, mouth full of food. Frank raised an eyebrow at him.

"He's 23.", he said. "And I'm 16. I don't think a lot of people have kids when they're seven."

"He looks way older." Nicole had finished her burger and was lighting up a cigarette whilst speaking, causing a frown from Brooks, who was sitting next to her.

"Definitively don't let him hear you say THAT.", Frank said with a grin.

"Whatever." Nicole shrugged and turned her head to blow smoke away from the table. "Still, I don't get why you're living with him."

"That is a bit strange.", Jason said, briefly looking at Frank before turning his attention back to his burger and taking a large bite.

"Well, maybe." Any semblance of a smile had disappeared from Frank's face, and he suddenly seemed extremely focused to eat his burger, not even making eye contact with Nicole or Jason.

"So why don't you live with your parents?" It was Nicole who asked the 'million dollar-question', and Brooks looked up from his burger when she did, not sure whether or not he should tell her to shut up. By the time he saw Frank's blank stare, it was too late for him to say anything.

"Can't.", was his only answer, before picking up his phone and looking at the time. "18.48. Shit, Coach is probably already at my place." He scrambled to eat the last of his burger and throw the paper in a nearby trashcan.

"See you tomorrow?", Brooks said. Frank just held up a hand as an answer, as he ran off toward the bus stop.

"Can't...", Nicole said. "What do you think that means?" She looked at Jason, who looked to have his face completely full of hamburger remnants.

"Probably that he actually can't live with them for some reason." Jason swallowed his food. "Or he doesn't want to talk about it, and thinks you're a total bitch for asking." He shrugged.

"Thank you, Dr fucking Phil." She gave him and angry look as she took one last drag of her cigarette and tossed it to the ground.

Coach Taylor was very much waiting for Frank as he arrived home 15 minutes later, sitting on the porch with Oscar, holding a conversation.

"...Always to the far side of the field, away from the hash, and if you're inside the 20, you might get a touchdown on the corner route.", Oscar said, smoke leaving both his nose and mouth as he spoke.

"You know, for someone who doesn't like football, you sure know a lot about it.", Eric replied, impressed by the man's knowledge.

"Just because you stop doing something doesn't mean you forget everything about it." Oscar pulled a hand through his mid-length, brown hair and looked toward Frank. "Evening, brother."

"Aren't you a little late?", Taylor said, without looking mad.

"Yeah, sorry." Franklin nervously scratched the back of his head, as if he was expecting to get yelled at.

"Don't be.", his brother said, dropping his cigarette in an empty beer bottle. "Eric is a pretty decent conversationalist." He stood up, opening the door to the house.

"And your brother knows a whole lot more about offense than I expected." The coach had turned his attention toward Frank, and was suddenly holding a playbook in his hands. "30-yard line, left hash, defense playing 4-3, showing blitz."

"Deep drop, screen right.", Frank said. Taylor nodded, and then pointed for him to sit down. Their discussion would last for hours.

Bright lights. Screaming people. Sweat-drenched uniform. Despite the potential outside distractions, Franklin was calm as could be when he called a play in the huddle, clapped once along with everyone else, and then stepped up to the line. They were up 24-21 with 1.45 remaining in the game, but it was third down, the clock was stopped, and they were outside of field goal range.

_Seven yards_, Frank thought. _Just seven more yards_. He didn't show any sign of weakness, but was about a straw short of a nervous wreck on the inside.

The ball was snapped. The defense's blitz was picked up. Open receiver right, but would get taken down ahead of the marker. Open tight end. Throw. Ball in air. Caught. Game.

The pass had gone for 11 yards, making Frank end his day with 239 through the air and, after he'd taken three knees, 19 rushing. Coach Taylor had been clear on the importance of spreading the ball around, and it had worked. Everyone had gotten their touches, and filled their purpose.

It wasn't the game, the five incomplete passes or three sacks that got to Frank. It was the celebration afterward. Parents ran out to congratulate their sons, girlfriends to tackle their boyfriends. And then there was himself. Getting pats on the back from other players as he walked toward the locker room with his helmet in his hand. Oscar stopped him and gave a brief hug, but let go when he realized what his brother had to be feeling.

Coach Taylor was the first to enter the locker room when Frank was already in there, sitting on a bench, head in his hands.

"You alright, son?", Eric said, walking up to his young quarterback, a situation that reminded him all too much of Matt Saracen's outbursts of bottled up emotions. But Frank simply looked up, blank stare on his face.

"Probably not.", he said, with a shrug.

"What's the problem?" Eric sat down next to him, leaning forward so he could see the young mans face.

"It's..." Frank seemed to be near an outburst of crying, but stopped himself. "Everyone out there, they're happy. They're with their parents, and whatever."

"And your parents aren't here." Eric's heart was heavy as he spoke, as the situation had to feel rotten for Frank.

"Well... Yeah." A single tear fell from the corner of Franklin's eye. He wiped it away and sat up, suddenly 'better'. "Sorry about that coach." He gave a small smile.

"You're gonna be alright, kid." Eric patted him on the shoulder, and stood up. Just at that moment, the rest of the team and coaches started pouring in to the locker room. A rhythmical drumming filled the room, as the team was clapping against their helmets whilst shouting "Price!" over and over.

It took a while for them to quiet down, but when they did, they were all lined up in a half-circle around Frank and Coach Taylor, who was holding the game ball.

"You've earned this." He held the ball toward Frank, who accepted it with both hands. Then Eric spoke again. "Clear eyes, full hearts."

"Can't lose!" The team screamed.

Watching the game had once again opened Oscar's eyes for the sport. He'd tried hating it after he got hurt, but it seemed to pull him in every time he came in contact with it. So finally, he surrendered. As he sat in his car, waiting for Frank, smoking his third cigarette, he finally came to terms with the fact that football would always be part of his life. It's not like it was the worst thing in the world, after all. It was a fun sport to watch, even though he probably had a longer attention span than the target audience. But that was just something that gave him time to do what he was really good at; reading defenses.

It had been one of his most important tasks while playing at TMU, especially after Taylor left to coach his old team again. At one point, the head coach had even said they'd be willing to try him out as an offensive coordinator if the playing career didn't work out. But that offer had come and gone, and now he was making it easier for old men in suits to create spreadsheets. At least it was honest work, he told himself. And besides, there was never any guarantee that he'd actually be good at playcalling, mainly because a lot of his reads came from being on the field.

He was about to get lost further in his thoughts when Frank entered the car and sat down in passenger seat. The younger brother was, aside from his sports bag, holding a battered football, which Oscar could only assume was the game ball.

"So you got it, huh?", he said, turning on the engine.

"Yeah." Frank gave him a faint smile as he buckled his seat belt. The radio came on a split second later.

"Well, I've just seen the footage from tonight's local game, Pioneers versus the Delaware Stars, and my oh my, have the Pioneers got some talent.", the voice said. "I mean, both Martinez and Collins are continuing on last years success, but this young quarterback, Frank Price, he's something special." The announcer kept babbling about football as they drove homewards, sitting silently. Oscar was the one to break the silence.

"I'm proud of you, bro.", he said.

"Can we go see dad?", Frank asked. Then they were both silent again.

* * *

Eric hated art shows. A bunch of full-of-them-selves newly rich, young couples and aging so-called 'intellectuals'. And they all treated him like an idiot, snickering behind him when he actually took the time to look at one of the paintings. It was like being back in high school, only with him being one of the nerdy guys instead of the quarterback.

The shows only redeeming quality was the fact that it allowed him to spend time with his daughter and son-in-law, who seemed happy as ever.

"Dad, you have to look at this one.", Julie said, pulling him toward a large sculpture as Matt disappeared away with a man in a suit. He looked up at the concoction of metal and some sort of animal hide, trying to make some sense of it.

"It's nice.", he said, looking around for his wife. Julie laughed at him.

"It doesn't make any sense.", she said, still smiling wide.

"It makes perfect sense.", a man beside her said. "It's called pigskin, so I'm going to assume it has something to do with football and how people distort the world views of the players."

"Deep.", Julie said in a sarcastic tone, possibly brought on by the fact that she realized that the skin was real.

"Very.", the man said, turning toward them with his hand stretched out. "Alec Verner."

"Eric Taylor." The coach shook his hand. "My daughter Julie. Her fiances company is arranging this." As soon as he'd spoken, Eric realized that it could be interpreted as him bragging, but it was too late to do anything about it.

"Ah, Matthew." The man nodded. "He certainly has done a lot for some of our younger artists."

"Yours?" It was Julie who had spoken.

"Yes." The man nodded again. "I'm headmaster at Temple, he has bought a lot of art from some of our graduates. Now, Coach Taylor, how is the team doing?"

"They're doing well. Won the opener last night." Eric shrugged, unfazed by the fact that the man knew who he was. Temple also rung a bell, as a local college that had a football team.

"Good to hear." Verner smiled and held out a business card. "In case it doesn't pan out." Eric took the card, and the old man walked away.

"Potential employer?", Julie said.

"Maybe." Eric put the card in his pocket, and they continued walking around.

"So, in short: depending on whether or not my boss thinks it's worth it, I might be manager for a dealership in Pittsburgh this time next year.", Matt said, with a light smile. He'd stopped stammering as much, possibly due to him becoming more confident. Julie, Matt and the Taylor parents were seated around a table at a restaurant, much like when the two youngsters had try to convince them that the engagement was a good idea.

"And it means we'll live much closer." Julie looked legitimately happy, although a glimmer of doubt shone through her eyes.

"Well, that's great!", Tami said, looking at Eric, who had his patented stern face on.

"What about school?", he said, his eyes fixed at his daughter.

"I only have this year left, so I'll be done way before we'd even think about moving.", she replied.

"And there's a lot more jobs for college graduates in Pittsburgh, it's a growing city.", Matt said.

"Well.", Eric leaned in over the table. "Looks like you two have put some thought into this." They nodded.

"And it would be nice having you closer by.", Tami said, smile shining bright.

"Alright then, Matt, hope it works out." Eric raised his glass. The others did the same, and they all took sips from their drinks.

"What about you dad?", Julie said as soon as she'd put her glass down. "That Verner guy?"

"From Temple?" His wife seemed excited.

"That's amazing, Mr Taylor.", Saracen said.

"He just gave me his card." Eric had hoped his words would quiet down the others excitement, but to no avail.

"Come on honey, we all know you only signed a two-year contract with the Pioneers."

"Yeah dad, you have to call him!" The Taylor women stared at him until he bent.

"Alright, fine! I'll call him. Jesus." A slight laugh escaped from both Tami and Julie, as the food was brought in.


	4. Chapter 4

Authors note:  
Sorry for not posting for a while. This part has been sitting unfinished for almost a month, but I just haven't found the time to write. I'll try to start publishing more frequently again.

Catch you on the flip side  
/Folay

* * *

At Pittsburgh. Those two words had been haunting the players for almost the entire week, and for good reason. The Wildcats, as the team was called, had given the Pioneers their first loss the previous season, shutting down every bit of offense and scorching the defense in a 57-0 game. It had been demoralizing, and was seen as one of the root causes for the teams 5-5 season.

Still, the team seemed a little more confident with Frank as their leader, putting a lot of faith in his ability to make plays, even though his calm demeanor made some of the players worried that he lacked confidence. He ignored the doubts, choosing to focus on perfecting his technique rather than talk about it. It wasn't easy for him to talk about it, either, considering the fact that he was constantly forced to spend the larger part of his lunch alone. While he sat eating, almost everyone else had classes, or extra projects, or some other thing that kept them from keeping him company in the cafeteria. He said it was the price to pay for a later lunch, but in reality he wanted to eat without them. Not that he didn't enjoy their company, he just preferred sitting by himself. Sitting by himself and, of course, looking at Tracy Bugrow. They were in the same advanced writing class, Frank generally taking a seat two or three spots behind and to the right of her. She was also virtually the only other person that had such a late lunch, aside from a few people who never bothered eating in the cafeteria. Not that he cared, she was the only one he had any interest in whatsoever. But he didn't have the guts to talk to her. He wasn't like Oscar, carefree and confident enough that he at least tried. He didn't look like his brother either, four and a half feet shorter, and almost a hundred pounds lighter than the ripped, bearded giant of a man. He was a little envious, of course, but Oscar always said his day would come.  
Amidst all of his thinking, Franklin had forgotten to look around, and was surprised to see someone put their tray down opposite his and sit down. He looked up slowly, first seeing the sweatshirt with the school logo, then the thin neck, the sharp jaw, small lips, up-turned nose, high cheekbones and green, friendly eyes.

"Hi.", Tracy said with a smile as she found a comfortable way to sit. Frank froze up. He wasn't prepared for this. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what she was interested in. Panic roamed in his head. Then he cleared his throat.

"Hey.", he responded. The conversation got easier after that.

* * *

The offensive playbook was laid out, carefully planned for every possible scenario. A mix of pistol, spread, shotgun and I-form, it was intended to confuse the opponent's defense. Coach Taylor's players knew it inside and out, as he had forced all of them to study it until they knew every play for every situation. He was proud of them, everyone taking their time to learn the reinvented offense.

There was still a nagging feeling inside him, however, as he still had not taken the time to call Verner back. The headmaster seemed to be offering everything Eric had ever wanted, a college coaching job, and under circumstances that wouldn't force Eric to choose between his family and his job. It was too perfect, there had to be some sort of hitch.

So he let his phone lie on his desk, still unsure whether he should touch it or not. But as it turned out, he didn't have to make that decision. The phone started ringing, the display showing a number he didn't recognize. Slowly, almost trembling, he picked up the phone and slid his thumb across the screen to answer.

"Taylor.", he said.

"Ah, good day coach!", a happy sounding man said at the other end of the line. "Adam Bugrow here." Taylor's heart almost stopped as the football team's main sponsor introduced himself. He'd met the man in person once, coming to the conclusion that 'At least it's not Buddy Garrity.' Still, the man was the owner of several profitable businesses, and according to a lot of people had a tendency to behave in accordance.

"What can I do for you Mr Bugrow?", Eric wondered, silently worrying that Bugrow was about to take over the role that Buddy had occupied in his life for so many years.

"Oh, nothing much, I was just wondering whether or not you and the team are gonna show up for the barbeque?" Adam didn't sound pushy or intimidating, but rather like a man making gentle conversation whilst inviting a friend over for dinner.

"What barbeque?" Eric hadn't heard anything about such a thing, and as per usual didn't like not knowing things.

"Traditional end of summer party, with barbeque." The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat. "Surely you remember from last year?" Eric nodded as the man spoke. He did remember a barbeque at the Bugrow mansion the year before. He just didn't remember that it was supposed to be an annual thing.

"Of course.", he finally said. "Should I extend the invitation to their families as well?" Eric hoped that he didn't misremember that part.

"Oh yes, the more the merrier." Bugrow kept his happy tone. "I'll see you there then."

"Yes, Mr Bugrow, see you." The call ended. Eric just stood there. His mind had started trailing off toward calling Verner again. But he didn't. Instead he put his phone in his pocket, picked up his playbooks and headed out onto the field.

That Thursday's practice was a lot calmer and shorter than usual, but was still watched by a crowd of almost fifty people. The Bugrow daughter and her cheerleader friends sat in the first row of the stands, clapping and whistling to encourage the players. A few other students were also there, including Nicole and her older friend Kara, both waving at Jason when he finally got a chance to practice.

When Eric had seen enough of the offense running his plays and the defense playing solid, he gathered everyone around in a huddle, close enough to where he could speak in a normal tone.

"I'm gonna keep this short.", he started, looking around at the players and coaches. "You all know who we're facing tomorrow, and you all know they're a tough team. But the way you guys are practicing, how you're carrying yourselves on that field, that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that they beat us last season. It doesn't matter that they're favorites for state. It doesn't matter that everyone is counting us out. What matters is that if you play to the best of your ability, the way you all have been this entire week, then we'll beat them." He looked at the players, all of them sharing the mixed expression of confidence and fear. Eric cleared his throat, and continued.

"Tomorrow we're gonna show those little kittens who the best team really is." The young men all nodded, agreeing. "Clear eyes. Full hearts."

"Can't lose!"

* * *

The elder Price brother had just gotten back from the gym when Frank got home. He was standing in the kitchen, cooking up a chicken stew and rice, trying his hardest to actually make something with actual nutritional value for his brother to eat.

"Hey bro!", he shouted as he heard Frank close the door.

"What's cooking?", Frank responded.

"Chicken and stuff." Oscar turned around just as Franklin entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Ready for tomorrow?"

"I guess." The younger brother shrugged, then got a text message and picked up his phone, seemingly excited.

"And school was good?", he said as he set the table, trying to get a glimpse at the screen of Frank's phone. Then he saw the name 'Tracy' at the top of the conversation, and gave a little smile that was hidden by his beard. "Thought you were going after that Nicole girl." He nodded at the phone when his brother looked up, confused.

"Nah." Frank shook his head. He'd been interested in Nicole for a brief moment, before it became clearer and clearer that she was so much more interested in Jason, who in turn was entirely oblivious to the whole situation.

"Wow.", Oscar said as he tasted the stew to determine whether or not it was ready. "A starter for barely a week and you're already turning into a dick."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank looked up with a raised eyebrow while Oscar put the food on the table.

"You know, sleeping around, being a general dick." The large, bearded brother put food on his plate and started eating, using only a fork. "Perpetuating the stereotype."

"I'm not sleeping around." The smaller one frowned whilst putting food on his own plate.

"You expect me to believe you didn't fuck that Nicole girl?" It became Oscar's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yes. We're friends, nothing more."

"Bullshit."

"Fuck you. She likes Jason." Frank filled his mouth with so much food that he couldn't speak, and looked angrily at his brother.

"Oh. That sucks." Oscar leaned back, looking at his empty plate, considering taking some more food. "Sorry." His sorry seemed to soften Frank up again, and he swallowed before speaking.

"It's alright." He shrugged. "She's cool anyway."

"That's good." The idea to take more food was shot away in Oscar's brain, he'd taken enough on his first go. "So who's Tracy?"

"From the writing class." Frank was still eating, not looking up at his brother.

"Nice?"

"I guess. She's a cheerleader though, so she might turn out to be a bit stupid.", he said, causing Oscar to laugh. Franklin looked up. "What?"

"At least I was right about one thing." He cleared his throat. "You are perpetuating the stereotype."

They shared a smile as Frank finished his second plate and Oscar lit a cigarette.

* * *

Jason was unable to sleep. The night before the game that would most likely determine the rest of the season, and he had more than ever to think about. Late homework, sloppy test results, not getting to actually play. And her. Nicole. Her interest in him had been brought up by Steve when they were heading home after practice, claiming that she'd only been looking at Brooks for the entire thing. Still, the running back had a knack for blowing things out of proportion, so Jason needed a more reliable source.

'U awake?', he wrote to Franklin. The clock showed 0.37. It took 2 minutes for an answer to arrive.

'What have we said about spelling?', Franklin wrote back.

'Sorry. Have a question.'

'About...?' Jason smiled slightly. Even in text form Frank managed to sound sarcastic.

'Nicole. Think she likes me?' He put the phone on his chest as he waited for a response.

'Really dude? Of course she does.'

'How do you know that?' He still had his doubts.

'We'll talk tomorrow. Need my sleep.' And with that, the conversation was over for the night.

* * *

Under Armour Nitro shoes. High, white socks. White pants with green details. Quarterback pads. A white shirt with the number 13 in green on the back. A playbook wristband on the left wrist. Taped fingers on the left hand. An AiR XP helmet.

Frank Price was ready. He was wearing his armor. He had prepared himself. The Pioneers were going to win.

It was the first time in his life that he could remember feeling that confident. He didn't know if he liked the feeling, but he could see that his teammates took inspiration from seeing him so focused.

There were barely any cheers when they ran out onto the field, just faded applause and a few screams from the people that had made the trip. There were also a few boos. Frank fazed it out, focused on staring the opposing quarterback dead in the eye during the coin toss. The won, and deferred to the second half.

It was impossible for both Frank and Coach Taylor to sit down during the kickoff. The Wildcats returner managed to get to his own forty before Jason Brooks, second string safety and member of the kicking team, laid the returner out with a hit so hard it cast an echo throughout the stadium. When it was done, Jason simply stood up, looked down at the opposing player, and grunted at him before walking toward the sideline, receiving pats on the helmets and words of praise as he arrived.

Then it was the actual defense's turn. To everyone's surprise, they actually managed to hold the 'Cats to a field goal on their first possession, something that hadn't happened until the fourth quarter of the game the year before.

The Pioneers first return ended in a touchback, and then Frank was up.

Midway through the fourth quarter, the game was tied at 27-27. Neither defense had been able to cause a 3 and out or a turnover, leading to at least a field goal on every single offensive drive.

The Wildcats had the ball, and were starting to look tired. Frank was also tired where he stood on the sideline, but he would never admit that, not when there was a game to worry about.

He was brought out of his thoughts as Jason substituted one of the corners. It made him wrinkle his eyebrows in confusion before he straightened his face out, realizing that Coach probably had a plan.

The Wildcats snapped the ball. A pass went straight through Jason's zone and ended up gaining 15 yards. Frank nervously scratched his neck, trying to remain calm with his inexperienced friend on the field.

Another play. Again blown coverage. 20 yards. Frank got irritated, Brooks usually covered better than that in practice. Then he saw it. The Pioneers defense were lined up in the nickel. Brooks had a role covering over the middle. Or at least, that was what it was supposed to look like. The play was a defensive fake, meant to look like zone coverage when it really was man-to-man. If it worked, it would be brilliant.

Time seemed to slow down during the play, the Wildcat Quarterback prodding around in the backfield, looking for an opening. He saw what looked like one, and threw. It was bait. Jason seemed to come leaping out of nowhere, ending up in front of the ball and wrapping as much of his body around it as he could, all while still in the air. He got the interception. As he landed, the Coach turned to Frank.

"Keep playing like you have been, and we'll win this." The coach's usually stern eyes had a new fire in them, a happy sort of intensity. "Win me this game." Frank nodded, and Taylor slapped him on the shoulder. Then Frank went out onto the field with his offense, and won.


End file.
